


Home Less

by perksofbeingaiko



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Break Up, Happy Ending, M/M, Pining, Prostitution, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perksofbeingaiko/pseuds/perksofbeingaiko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he lost his scholarship and couldn't afford college, he needed a way to make money, and fast. Why disappoint his father any further by begging for cash? In hindsight, he should have known things would go downhill from there. It started as an accident the first time it happened. He went home with a guy and ended up $100 richer. But when a surprise visit from his friends sends him into a panic, he does the only thing he thinks is right. He runs.</p><p>Based on the beautiful lyrics by Ed Sheeran.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

_Like our last kiss it was perfect,_  
 _but we were nervous, on the surface,_  
 _And I'm always saying everyday that it was worth it,_  
 _Pain is only relevant if it still hurts_

*

“Are we breaking up?”

Stiles felt sick. His stomach felt heavy, like it was full of lead, sinking him. He could feel his hands growing numb, sensation leaving his body as the air fought its way into his lungs.

“Yes.”

Derek wasn't looking him in the eye. He was staring over Stiles' shoulder, grinding his teeth together in an effort to stay put. After two years, Stiles still couldn't believe that he was able to make the Alpha falter, to make him want to duck and run rather than hold his ground. Derek used to say it was because they were equals, that he was scared of Stiles in the way that Stiles should be afraid of him.

“Yeah o...yeah, okay.” _Breathe in. 1-2-3. Breathe out. 1-2-3. Breathe in._ Stiles had never been afraid of Derek before. Sure, in the beginning, Derek was abrasive, raw, and unemotional. He tossed around threats the way Stiles tossed around his feelings. But he never thought Derek would ever hurt him, not like this, anyway. They'd been good. Really good, actually. He thought, maybe one day, they'd get married. Settle down. Turns out, he was being foolish.

“Call me.”

“What?”

“Call me, when you get to the school. So that I know you made it there safe.”

“Alright.” The numbness was spreading up his arms as he controlled his breathing. Derek must have been able to hear the way his heart was racing, threatening to burst right out of his chest. He did nothing, though. Just gave an abrupt nod, then walked out of Stiles' bedroom. He didn't use the window like he usually did. Stiles poked his head out of his door and heard Derek mumble a few words to his father, then shut the front door.

He was gone.

And now Stiles was alone.

*

_And I know you'll say,_  
 _that I'm the only one_  
 _But I know that God made another one of me_  
 _to love you better than I ever will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: U.N.I.


	2. Chapter 2

_I wanna be drunk when I wake up_  
 _On the right side of the wrong bed_  
 _…_  
 _I'm sat here wishing I was sober_  
 _I know I'll never hold you like I used to._

*

Stiles tapped his foot against the linoleum floor of the waiting room. He was due to meet his counselor at 12, and now it was already 12:15. _Figures,_ Stiles thought to himself. He just wanted to get this over with so that he could get onto his flight for Beacon Hills and go home.

Don't get him wrong, Stiles loved UMICH. He loved the college, his roommate, Ryan, was friendly enough, and he kind of liked the freedom of not having to check in with his father whenever he wanted to go out. But he was homesick. He called his dad and Scott weekly, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't shake the feeling that the pack was falling apart without him there to keep them in check. He knew that wasn't true, though. Surely _someone_ would have let him know if anyone were dead or if the whole town was infested with zombies, or something. Honestly, he just missed everyone. He missed Derek.

They hadn't spoken in over 6 months. Whenever Stiles went home for Winter Break, they had avoided each other like the plague. But he couldn't help it. He was with Derek for almost two years, and you don't just drop someone out of your thoughts in a few months time. Hopefully, whenever Stiles went home for the summer, they could talk. Stiles could sit him down and explain how much he misses him. And maybe, if he's lucky, Derek missed him, too.

“Stilinski?” a voice calls, and Stiles looks up to see a petite woman holding a clipboard waving him over to step into her office. Stiles entered the room, taking in all of the personal touches. _This woman sure does love pigs,_ he thought to himself, noticing the several figurines and knick knacks littering her shelves and desk.

“How are you, Mister Stilinski?” the woman – Aubrey Caldwell, according to her name badge – says, looking earnestly at Stiles.

“I'm fine. Excited to go back home, you know? Michigan is great and all, but I'm set to go back to California,” Stiles said with a smile, fingers tapping along the wooden desk.

“Well then, let's get started.” Ms. Caldwell pulled out his file, skimming over it until something caught her eye, a frown pulling down the edges of her mouth. “Oh, dear. Well it looks to me as if you've been doing very well in your classes, Mr. Stilinski. But...” she trailed off, looking up at Stiles with her eyebrows creasing.

Stiles sat up, worried now himself. “What's up?” he asked, not hiding his concern.

“Well, it's just that you're here on a full scholarship. One that firmly states that you will have free tuition and boarding as long as you keep all straight A's. But in your Life Sciences class, you ended the semester with an 86%. That means that your scholarship is now null and void... but don't worry! There are plenty of other scholarships that you can apply for and then we can get you right back on track.”

“Like what?” Stiles asked, a bit shorter than he intended. Yeah, there were other scholarships he could _apply_ for, but he had to think honestly. He was a white male who's father made just enough money to consider them middle class and he just lost a scholarship. He wasn't seeing very many options.

He listened to Ms. Caldwell rattle on about his different options, but he was already resigned to the truth. He'd have to go to college back in Beacon Hills for the year to save enough money to try and transfer back. He could feel his opportunities slipping away like an avalanche.

A part of his mind was telling him that he was being ridiculous. He could go to community college for a year and then transfer to a school in California. Somewhere close enough to home and he could get right back on track. But the self-loathing part of him pushed those thoughts to the back, putting them under lock and key.

He shook his adviser’s hand, plastering on a fake smile before leaving her office. Pulling out his cell phone, he dialed his father's number, and by the 5th ring, his voice-mail activated.

“Uh, hey dad, it's me. Can you call me back, as soon as possible? Thanks.” Stiles hung up the phone and shoved it back into his pocket. He trudged himself back to his room, his hall mates clearing out their rooms and leaving one by one to go back to wherever they called home. He wasn't scheduled to leave until tomorrow afternoon. He plopped down onto his bed, hiding his face under the pillow, and fell asleep.

Hours later, he felt a hand on his arm shaking him awake. He blinked the sleep from his eyes as Ryan's face came into focus. “Wha' happen'?” he asked tiredly.

“Hey, end of the year party at SigEp. Open invitation. We're going,” Ryan said, tugging Stiles' arm until he all but fell out of the bed.

“I don't know dude. My head hurts. Just leave me here to die,” Stiles mumbled as he pushed his face back into his pillow.

“Open keg.” And there it was, Stiles' two favorite words. Stretching, he padded over to the en suite bathroom, ran his fingers through his hair in a halfhearted attempt to make himself presentable, then shrugged himself into a hoodie. Grabbing his keys, he followed Ryan out of the room.

While there weren't as many people there as Stiles expected, there were still enough to make it crowded and loud inside of the frat house. He looked over his shoulder and noticed his roommate had left him for a couple of girls out on the lawn, shrugged, then made a bee line for the beer. He filled his Solo cup and chugged it down before wiping his mouth with his sleeve and going for round two. He didn't want to get drunk, just needed to loosen up and clear his mind a little.

In hindsight, he should have known himself better than that. Two drinks turned into three, turned into six, and soon he was more than a little buzzed. The room was getting darker as the sun went down and more bodies piled onto the dance floor. Stiles found himself caught between a short blonde girl with way too much perfume and a bulkier man who's fingers were pressed into Stiles' hip a bit too hard. The sweat began to gather on his forehead, so he shed his sweatshirt too cool down.

Looking up, he saw a pair of dark eyes glancing at him from across the room. He licked his lips and locked his own eyes with the stranger's. He tilted his head back subconsciously, allowing it to roll back onto the shoulder of the person behind him, but didn't break eye contact. Soon enough, his staring partner was making his way across the room, gesturing with a slight nod for Stiles to follow him out.

The outside air was crisp for a summer night, chilling the sweat that clung to Stiles' skin. He bit his bottom lip, eyes going dark as the man trapped him with his arms against the wall. The corner of Stiles' mouth turned up in a smirk, and the man's breath, heavy with alcohol, fanned over his cheeks.

“My name's Raul,” the man purred into his ear, a hint of a Spanish accent coming through.

“Stiles,” he replied, bringing his hands up to rest on Raul's waist.

“Why don't we get out of here, Stiles?” he asked, grabbing one of Stiles' hands as he nodded in agreement to pull him along down the stairs and onto the sidewalk.

Stiles allowed Raul to wrap an arm around his shoulders, guiding him to the apartment complex down the road. He pulled out his phone, because he really needed to make a call. Something in him was telling him that it was very important that he call someone, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. His battery was dead, causing him to pout.

“Hey, do ya' think I could use your phone?” he slurred, reaching down to the other man's pocket for it without permission. Raul huffed a laugh, pulling it out and handing it over to Stiles.

“Thanks,” he grinned, and sped up his pace to give himself some privacy. His walking was causing him to stumble more than usual, but he payed no attention to that. He wasn't drunk. He just wasn't. Dialing the familiar number, Stiles put the phone to his ear, hearing the telltale sound of the voice-mail beep.

“Hey! Hey buddy, hi! I was jus' callin' to say hi. 'm goin' to someone's house righ' now and and I was just thinkin' of you. I really miss you, man. This guy, 'is name is _Raul_. I think he's Spanish or somethin'. He's really hot. He's tall and rugged and foreign. Maybe he's Italian! I dunno... but yeah! I just wanted to call and tell you 'cause I miss you. A lot. Derek...I'm gonna have sex with someone else. He's not you. Why isn't he you? Wha' did I do wrong? Why didn't you love me?”

“Stiles, come on,” Raul said from behind him, and Stiles looked up to notice that they were already at the apartments.

“'Kay, 'm comin',” he said over his shoulder to Raul before going back to the phone, “I gotta go now. Bye, Der.” With that, he hung up and tossed the phone back to Raul before climbing the stairs up to apartment 2E.

The next morning, Stiles found himself in his dorm with no memory of coming home, and a dull ache in his ass telling him all he needed to know. He scratched at his head, pulling his phone out of the jeans he was still wearing, and plugging it into the charger. As he waited for the phone to come back to life, he did his best to remember what happened that night. He looked over to Ryan's bed where the guy was spread out like a starfish, looking just as worse for the wear as Stiles felt. Nothing was coming to mind, though, so Stiles decided that maybe it was for the best that he didn't remember.

Looking down at his phone, he had a missed call from his dad along with a text that just read _Call me, kid_. He pressed call and layed back down.

“Hey, son. About time you called back,” his dad answered.

“Hey, dad. Yeah, sorry about that. I was, uh, busy last night.”

“Yeah, of course you were. Listen, I gotta tell you something, but I don't want you to worry, 'cuz I'm fine. But last night, I had a heart attack.”

“Oh, my God! Dad, what the hell! Are you alright? Is it because you've been eating fatty foods? I told you to stay healthy!” Stiles screamed, earning a groan from Ryan who flipped him off and promptly passed out again.

“Kid, I'm fine. It was small, but the hospital bills aren't. God, I'm so glad you've got that scholarship,” his dad laughed, and Stiles blanched.

There was no way he could tell his dad about losing it now. Not only would it disappoint him, but now they really couldn't afford to send him back next semester. He was an adult. He wasn't supposed to rely on his daddy to pay for everything. Stiles would have to figure this out for himself.

“You still there?” his dad asked.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm here. Look, dad, please take care of yourself. You're all I've got left,” Stiles whispered, rubbing at his face.

“Don't worry. Plus, you're coming home tonight. And we both know you'll be watching me like a damn hawk all summer.”

“Actually, uh, about that. That's why I called yesterday.” _Well, what's one more lie?_ “I actually got a job out here, and I was thinking about staying in Michigan over the summer.” Stiles felt like the worst son in the entire world.

“A job? Doing what?”

“Sales!” he replied, shouting it louder than he intended. “I mean, I work at Sears. I'm a cashier.”

“Oh. Well then, I'm proud of you, son.” _Don't be._ “And I suppose you're right. This will be good for you.”

“Heh. Yeah, it will.” He deserved an award. Worst Son of the Year: Stiles Stilinski. The men exchanged a few more words, promises to keep in contact over the summer, and more lies about Stiles rooming with a friend while the dorms were closed.

“I love you, son.” Stiles groaned internally. He could hear the proud tone in his father's voice. The way he truly believed Stiles was growing into his own person.

“I love you, too, dad.” Hanging up, Stiles put his pillow over his face and screamed, earning a “FUCK YOU, STILES, SHUT UP!” from Ryan. But he couldn't bring himself to care. _What the fuck did I just do?_

Two thousand miles away, Derek was listening back to the voice-mail for the 17th consecutive time, eyes glowing red as he all but crushed the phone in his grip.

*

_Flames just create us, burns don't heal like before_  
 _You don't hold me anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Drunk


	3. Chapter 3

_I've moved far away from you_   
_and I want to see you here beside me, dear,_   
_but things aren't clear_

*

_Why didn't you love me?_

The words rang in Derek's mind as he paced back and forth through the trees, the woods giving him the smallest amount of comfort he would allow himself. He had been at the Stilinski house when he received the call, but he had been in a rush to check on John, to make sure that he was as alright as Melissa was allowing the pack to believe, that he had left the phone in the car. He had heard the ring, but it wasn't as important. Whoever it was could have waited. This was Stiles' _father_.

He should have answered the damn call. He should have assured Stiles that _of course_ he loved him. Loves him still. Then maybe some other man wouldn't have his hands all over what's Derek's. That was _his_ boyfriend, and the wolf inside him raged. He wasn't being fair, and he knew it. Breaking up with Stiles, Derek knew that this was a possibility. That Stiles would move on and be with someone else. But assuming it would happen and knowing it _was_ happening were two different things entirely.

It was 4 PM now and Stiles would be home soon. Derek would come in through the window, just like before, and show him just how much he did miss him. How much he loves him. Then he would fuck Stiles into the mattress so hard he'd forget everything except Derek's name. All thoughts of that Raul guy long gone. What the hell kind of name was Raul, anyway? A shit one.

He heard Scott's footsteps making their way towards him, and he sighed. You could always count on McCall to not listen to his orders of _stay the hell away from me today_. Scott found him and he had a half-pained half-pitying look to his features. Derek clenched his jaw, raising an eyebrow as if to signal for Scott to begin talking. Taking the cue, he explained his being there.

“Stiles called this morning. He's not coming back home. His dad said he got a job out there near the school and that he's staying for the summer.” Scott looked bummed about the news, but Derek saw red.

“Derek...are you alright? You're wolfin' out.”

“Leave,” he commanded, but Scott stood his ground.

“Dude, no way. You look like you're about to tear a poor bunny's head off. Which isn't really fair because _you're_ the jackass that broke up with _him_. You don't have the right to be angry-” Scott said, but was cut off as Derek's hands grabbed at his throat, claws elongating as he pushed him up against a tree.

“You don't know anything, McCall,” he growled out, squeezing his hands tighter around Scott's neck, causing the other boy to punch him square in the jaw. Derek stepped back, confused.

“Did you just sucker punch me?”

“Dude, you were about to kill me! That was defense!”

Derek huffed, changing his features back from his Beta form, his shoulders drooping. Scott had never seen him look this way. Even when Stiles had first left, Derek kept his back straight, looking like the cocky asshole he usually was. But now, it was as if all the fight drained out of him.

“Scott, just...leave.” His voice was different, strained in a way that didn't suit Derek at all. Scott nodded, but Derek had already turned his back to him, stalking deeper into the woods. He needed to be alone, even more than before. This wasn't supposed to be how it turned out. Stiles was supposed to come back home. Come back to Derek. Now he was fucking other men. Maybe that was the real reason he was staying behind. To be with Raul. Or to be with any number of guys that weren't Derek.

Allowing himself to fully shift, Derek ran deeper into the forest until he couldn't feel the pull of the pack urging him back home.

As the days passed, Derek would follow his routine. Wake up, work out, shower, check on the Sheriff, run drills with the Betas, check on the sheriff once more, then sleep. Rinse and repeat. Eating had become optional. He would sit on the Stilinski's roof, listening in on the 7PM phone calls between John and Stiles, telling himself that it wasn't considered torture to listen to Stiles' voice. God, he missed his laugh. More than anything, Derek missed the way Stiles laughed with his whole body. The way he threw his head back as his body shook, the way his smile would take over his features, scrunching his eyes and dimpling his cheeks.

There was a night, though, when Stiles didn't call. Where the Sheriff waited up as long as he could before sighing and heading off to work the night shift at the station. Stiles must have been busy. But one night turned into a week, which turned into a month where Stiles didn't call. He could feel the worry rolling off the Sheriff in waves, his mood dampening every night that Stiles neglected to contact him. The only thing keeping either of them from filing a Missing Persons Report was the text Scott got to his phone two weeks after the last phone call. Stiles hadn't meant to text him, but they at least knew that he wasn't dead.

The Sheriff would sigh, murmuring about how his kid was growing up. Adults don't call their parents every day. It was just a fact of life. Derek felt like the last glimmer of his happiness had finally faded away.

*

Stiles sprayed himself with his cologne, then looked at his reflection once more in the mirror. His hair was too long, it was starting to stick up in different directions. No amount of water was going to make it look nice though, so he breathed out then exited the bathroom. _The line's gotten pretty long for a men's restroom_ , he thought to himself as he headed toward the hotel's elevators. He hiked the backpack that hung on his shoulder up higher, then pressed the button for the 6th floor. As the elevator dinged, he stepped out and made his way to room 6004.

He knocked three times, shifting his weight on his feet as he stared at the way the golden numbers curled on the door. A man who must have been in his late 40s opened the door halfway, poked his head out to make sure no one had followed Stiles, then dragged him into the room.

This was a usual night, nowadays. Stiles would meet a guy outside of the bar, they would slip him a location to meet at, and he'd let them do whatever they wanted, as long as they had the money. It made him enough to be fed day to day, and the men were usually only half-passed decent. Not that he would have complained, that is. Stiles drew the line at 60 years old, but other than that, he was open territory.

It hadn't started like this, though. The first time a man had payed him for sex, it had been on accident. Stiles went home with a guy, a business type, complete with button-up suit and a spacious loft, and only after the guy went to town on his cock did he see the picture of the man's kids on his nightstand. The man pulled off of Stiles after he came, stood up and pushed down on Stiles' shoulders until he was on his knees. Stiles was in a daze, taking the man's cock into his mouth but couldn't shake the feeling that he was the guy's guilty booty call.

Afterwords, the man ushered him out the door, slipping a 100 dollar bill into his hand before shoving him out into the elevator. Stiles felt dirty. But he wasn't going to lie and say that the thought of easy money like that wasn't a good deal. He pocketed the cash and never looked back.

Usually, the men were older. They would purr into his ear - in a tone they must have thought was seductive - that they liked younger men. Stiles couldn't help but feel they didn't mean the 19 year old in front of them, because he knew he, at best, looked 16. He was a baby face, and dirty old men were the richest ones. The ones that would pay $100 for Stiles to fuck them, $200 to let them fuck him. He hardly messed around with the young ones, and never under the age of 25. They could still be considered a one night stand, no money involved. And he wasn't in it for the sex.

In a week, Stiles would make around $700, enough to eat and keep up payments at the local motel. He put away $20 a week in hopes to save enough that in two years time, he could go back to school. Nothing fancy like UMICH. Maybe Beacon Hills Community College. Or even Ann Arbor Community College. He wasn't giving up on his future. He _would_ go back, he was just taking the couple of years off to get everything sorted. He was fooling himself on a pipe dream, and he knew it.

The men he would play around with never told him their name, and Stiles never told his either. One day, he was Jason. Another, he was Nate. Never was he Stiles. Because only one man was allowed to call that name as they came, and that man had to be forgotten.

On August 12, Stiles received a phone call. It was still warm out, so Stiles had been taking to sleeping outside. Why waste money on a motel that he didn't need? He would stop at the library to charge his phone while using their bathroom to brush his teeth. He'd spend a few hours with books all around him, trying to make it look as if he were studying, and then he'd meander to the small park nearby and people watch until nightfall, where he would make his way over to another bar to wait outside for customers. It wasn't the most ideal lifestyle, but it was far from the worst.

It was still morning, though, so Stiles was flipping through the library's encyclopedia collection when his phone rang. He stilled, seeing Scott's name and number flash on the screen. It had been over two and a half months since he spoke to anyone from Beacon Hills, his father included. He just didn't want to lie anymore, so instead he ignored them. The call went to voice-mail and Stiles breathed out in relief, though it was short lived. Soon a call from Lydia came through. Then a call from Isaac. Allison. Scott again.

“What?” he answered tersely.

“Stiles! God, finally you're answering! Oh, God, are you at work? Is that why you were ignoring the calls? I'm sorry man I didn't even think,” Scott rambled, panic rising in his voice. Stiles smiled fondly at the thought of Scott's eyes widening in shock at the thought of getting Stiles in trouble.

“Wasn't at work. In the library,” was all he replied.

“Oh, good.” Stiles waited for about 10 seconds before sighing.

“So did you call for a reason, or did you just want us to listen to each other breathe over the line. 'Cuz I've gotta say, that's romantic and all, but I'm not interested.”

“Right! I called because we're on our way to see you!” Scott's excitement was usually infectious, but now it just made Stiles want to throw up.

“What do you mean you're coming to see me? Who's we?”

“The pack! We're in Nebraska, now, so we should get to Michigan in about 10 hours. Though, with the way Jackson is driving, probably around 8 hours. I knew I should have ridden with Derek...” Scott rambled on, but Stiles suddenly couldn't hear him over the rush of blood in his ears.

_Derek_. He was coming to see Stiles. They were all coming to see him, expecting to see Stiles at home. Stiles working. Not Stiles bumming it on the streets until he can make his way to a sketchy apartment or hotel with a man twice his age. He couldn't let them see him like this. He refused.

“No.” Scott was mid-sentence about stopping at a Subway when Stiles cut him off.

“No what?”

“You guys can't come here. Turn around and go home.” Stiles' voice was hard, it was the only thing keeping him from squeaking with worry.

“What do you mean? We're already more than halfway there! Look,” Scott dropped his voice, regardless of the fact that the rest of the pack could still hear him clear as day, “If this is about Derek coming along, I really think it'll be good for you two. He misses you, man. And I know you miss him, too.”

Stiles could feel the pulse in his neck and the pounding in his head. He was forgetting to breathe. _In-2-3. Out-2-3._ He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“I-I do. Miss him. But that doesn't change anything, you guys can't come here.”

“Well too bad, because we are.”

Stiles hung up the phone. He didn't have time to argue with Scott. He needed to get out of Michigan, now.

*

_Whenever it was painful,_   
_whenever I was away_   
_I'd miss you_   
_And I miss you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Sunburn
> 
> Also, thank you all for the positive feedback. Kisses your faces *3*


	4. Chapter 4

_And you can stay with me forever_   
_Or you could stay with me for now_

*

Derek gripped the steering wheel tight as the line went dead. Scott tried ringing back, but the call went automatically to voice-mail, indicating that Stiles must have turned off his phone. The tension between the pack members grew as Scott filled Lydia and Allison in on what they couldn't hear. They were parked at a gas station, intent on filling up so they could make it to Ann Arbor by morning.

“Well, what the hell do we do now?” Jackson asked, breaking the silence.

“I didn't drive for two days straight to leave now. We're going and we're going to snap him out of whatever funk he's in,” Lydia insisted, sliding back into the passenger's seat, blatantly ignoring Jackson's protests that she wasn't the one driving at all.

“He didn't sound like he wanted us around, though. Maybe we should respect his privacy?” Allison asked, looking around at the pack. Erica rolled her eyes, leaning against the rear end of the Camaro, Boyd refusing to move from his spot in the passenger's seat of the car. As if on instinct, all five Betas looked toward Derek, still seated, knuckles going white as he restrained from cracking the steering wheel in half.

“What do you say, Derek?” Isaac asked from the backseat.

Derek's mind was buzzing. Stiles really sounded like he didn't want them there. But he also said that he missed them. Well, him, but he knew it extended to the pack as well. They were his family. That had to count for something, right? Maybe he was in trouble and was afraid to get the pack involved, which was stupid, and exactly the kind of selfless idiotic thing that Stiles would do.

“We keep driving. If he doesn't want us there, we'll leave. But I- we need to see how he's doing. If anything, for the Sheriff's sake,” he replied, starting the engine. Erica had just enough time to duck back into the backseat before Derek tore out of the parking lot. Allison and Scott quickly scrambled to Jackson's car before they too took off.

They started with the campus first, checking the dorm halls where the athletes and marching band members were already starting to move in. Then they checked the library, eating areas around campus, up and down the buildings. There wasn't the scent of Stiles anywhere. Splitting up, Jackson's car checked the only Sears in the small city while Derek's car checked every library in town. Finally, when they were about to give up, Isaac caught his scent. Faint, as if he hadn't been to the library in a few hours, but definitely there. Erica went up to the desk, asking the librarian if she'd seen Stiles around. The woman gave a cautious look and brought out a slip of paper scratched in Stiles' hand writing.

_I've turned off my phone already. Left it in the dumpster out back, so there's no point in tracking it. Stop looking for me, I'm fine. It's easier this way. I'll look after myself. Promise. Stiles x_

Derek pocketed the note and turned towards the woman, a mixture of fear and allure coming off of her in waves, a scent that Derek was accustomed to. He knew how he looked, he wasn't surprised.

“Do you have any idea where he went?” he growled out, almost leaning forward to grab the woman by the collar. She shook her head vigorously, and Derek pushed away from the desk.

“He comes in every day, though,” she squeaked out, voice mousy in a way that matched her features. “He comes in around 8AM and sits until 4 o'clock looking like he hadn't showered or eaten in days. Like he was homeless. But he doesn't harass anyone, and he does read the books, so I had no reason to kick him out.”

Derek felt Boyd's arm drape across his shoulders, leading him out of the building, and he could hear Isaac mutter a thank you before the Betas followed them out. His eyes were flashing red. Suddenly, the thoughts of Stiles sleeping in an alley way, spending his time in public facilities that couldn't kick him out in order to get out of the heat, it was making his wolf thrash about. Stiles should be safe, under a roof, at home. With Derek. Not fending for himself on the streets.

Stiles wasn't here, and he definitely wasn't going back to Beacon Hills, meaning he could be any number of places in the world. With a glimmer of hope, Derek thought that maybe Stiles had been lying, that he was hiding away somewhere in the city in hopes that the pack wouldn't keep searching. But as they traced his scent, they ended up at an airport. Derek swore under his breath before pulling an illegal U-turn to drive back to their motel.

*

Nine months passed in the blink of an eye. Stiles' 20th birthday came and went, celebrated only in the sense that Stiles took the day off from making the rounds at the local night club.

He hated Chicago. It was really fucking cold, and with only two jackets and the tendency to bed jump from one barely insulated house to another, the chill in the February air was taking a toll on him. He finally had friends, Marcus and Alan, two guys he met while scoping out for customers when he first got to the city. They pooled their money together, getting a small one bedroom apartment big enough for them to stuff two air mattresses into the room while the other took the couch. It was a shit hole, but it had a roof and 4 walls, and most importantly, plumbing. Aside from rent, the men didn't share any costs, each doing whatever they wanted with the little money they had.

Marcus had a day job at a nearby Wendy's and used the money to pay child support for a son he only gets to see three times a year. Alan uses his for pot. The smell of it lingers in the upholstery and in their clothing, so much so that Stiles grew to have a craving for it. He was still putting away 20 bucks a week, but the rest of it was used to fund their supply of cigarettes, pot, and Zippo lighters.

He hated it, at first. Not necessarily the high, because that felt great. It started in his temples, pulling him up into the air like he was floating. It relaxed his muscles and his mind, something he took advantage of as much as possible. But the feeling afterwords, that he was fucking up even more of his chances at going back to school, that's what hit him hard. But as he ground the pot, tapping the top of the grinder out of impatience, and packed the bowl, he didn't think twice of it. He lit a small snap, sucking it in in one go and holding the smoke in until he felt like he would burst. It wasn't the best way to do this, but it was the way he liked. Familiar. This was his life. The smell of weed and Camel smoke, the sound of the water bubbling as the smoke rose in the bong, and the feeling of complete emptiness as he toed his shoes on before leaving the house to find his newest customer.

Stiles lit a cigarette to warm his lungs and fight off the cold wind hitting his face. Pulling up the hood from under his coat, he walked out of the alleyway. Nothing today. He'd go back home, but he knew Alan would be at the house, and he wasn't up for company. He walked up the block, passing the same buildings and street corners that he did every night, the light from the posts making everything have a yellow hue. It was nearing 2AM, nothing was open. Stiles walked passed the park, bringing the cigarette to his lips and taking a deep drag before hopping onto one of the planters, walking along it like it was a tightrope.

He was never one for the heavy exertion of energy through exercise. He was more of a short bursts runner, the type that came in handy during holy-shit-run-for-your-life moments, but never when it came to endurance. But now, as he took another deep pull of the cigarette that he rolled between his index and middle fingers, he knew that if there was ever a situation where he had to escape or hold his breath, he would have to roll over and die. He could feel his chest constricting whenever he took a flight of stairs, but it wasn't worth it to quit. There weren't werewolves or kanima or any of the other number of monsters that he was dealing with back at home. What would he have to run from now? That was rhetorical.

He sat back down, leg jiggling in the way he hated most. Ever since leaving Michigan, he hadn't had his Adderall. The weed helped calm him down, but he hadn't had a hit since the day before, and he could feel his focus dropping in and out. His thoughts zapped around in his brain, and landed on the one that he tried his best to suppress, but on cold nights like this, he couldn't help but let them surface.

He thought of tanned skin and broad shoulders. The way the skin would feel beneath his fingers, unblemished, unlike his own. He thought of stubble rubbing against his neck as he lifted his hips to feel friction. He thought of the Triskelion tattoo, the way he had traced it with his fingertips and tongue every night for a month. Green eyes filled his memories, ones that would turn red when he was angry, or whenever he couldn't contain his lust. He remembered the warmth, and the way the broad hands would grip at his hips as Stiles rode him. The way he would hold Stiles close to his chest, exhausted from sex, and whisper words like _love_ and _mine_.

Stealing himself, Stiles flicked his eyes over to the payphone booth at the edge of the park, one of the last lonely soldiers of the payphone era. Making his way over, he dug the change out of his pocket while assuring himself that this was a good idea. He was tired and he just wanted a small comfort where he could get it. Dropping the coins into the slot, he dialed the number he memorized long ago.

*

“What?” Derek said into the mouthpiece of his cell phone, answering the call of a number he didn't recognize. There was breathing on the other end of the line, but no words. He was about to hang up when the voice came through.

“Der? It's uh, it's Stiles.”

His heart dropped. It had been months since he last heard the voice, over a year since it had been directed toward himself. The shock was almost too much, and he didn't say a word as Stiles continued.

“I just- I wanted to call. Because things are shit right now and I need my best friend. That's you, if you weren't sure. I guess it's also Scott, but people are allowed more than one best friend, but that's beside the point. I just...wanted to hear your voice.” Stiles' breath blew into the mouthpiece of whatever phone he was using.

“How are you?” Derek asked in a way that was meant to sound gentle, but actually came out manic.

Stiles laughed, but it didn't sound right. “I'm not going to lie to you, I'm pretty terrible. It's fuckin' freezing out, but I don't want to go home. Alan is probably smoking my share of the pot right now and I'm just not in the mood to deal with his shit.”

“You're a pot head now?”

“Nah, not really. I used to be for a couple of months. Now it's just a few times a week.”

“That sounds pretty excessive to me, Stiles.” Derek shook his head to himself. Stiles wasn't taking care of himself like he had promised. He was doing God knows what with God knows who, and Derek was just sitting at home on his couch watching late night television.

“Yeah, maybe, but I used to do fuckin' zorbs twice a day. Anyway, I don't want to talk about that. I want - _You have 60 seconds remaining on this call. To add another minute, please enter your change now_ \- Fuck. I'm outta quarters. Look, Derek, can you just talk to me? I wasn't lying when I said I wanted to hear your voice.” Stiles paused before whispering, “Please, Der.” He sounded pathetic in the most heart breaking way, and Derek hated hearing it in his voice.

_What the hell is a zorb?_ he mused to himself before shaking himself from his thoughts.

“Stiles, I'm coming to get you. I'm going to find you and bring you back home, even if I have to throw you over my shoulder and haul your ass back. You _need_ to come back. Your father is drinking himself out of house and home, the pack is tense and I'm pretty sure it's my fault because everything is a fucking wreck without you here. Please come home.” He was playing up the guilt card and he knew it.

The line went quiet, and Derek thought that maybe the line had already disconnected.

“You'll have to find me first,” Stiles breathed, but Derek could hear the hope hidden in his words. Derek wouldn't let him down. If it was a game of cat and mouse that Stiles wanted to play, then Derek was all in.

“I will,” was all Derek had time to say before the call ended and the line went dead. He checked the number that the call left on his phone and saw the 312 area code. A quick search was all he needed. He grabbed his wallet and keys, threw on his jacket, and head out. He had a plane to Chicago to catch in the morning.

*

_'Cause I love the way you wake me up_   
_For goodness sake will my love not be enough?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Cold Coffee.
> 
> A/N: It was brought to my attention that my math went a bit wonky there, so I'll make sure to address it in a later chapter. Thank you so much for bringing it up ^-^


	5. Chapter 5

_Light's gone, day's end_  
 _Struggling to pay rent_  
 _Long nights, strange men_

*

The call cut off, and Stiles whimpered. He wasn't ready to say goodbye, but the cold sound of a dial tone blared in his ear, and he hung the phone up harder than he meant to. Stiles punched at the wall of the phone booth and heard the sound of one of his knuckles popping, the sturdy glass keeping from making a satisfying sound when he hit it. He shouldn't have called, because now it hurt even more. Before, he could pretend that Derek had forgotten him, or at the very least moved on. But hearing the pain laced with desperation in Derek's words, he knew he made a mistake. Now they were both hurting.

He stalked out of the booth, the wind catching at his skin with a greater force, almost causing him to lose balance. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he kicked at the nub of his cigarette that had long since gone out before heading home. Hopefully Alan would be passed out by now, preferably on the couch so Stiles could have a turn at one of the beds. They weren't much, but anything was better than the springy mattress of the sofa's pull out.

He was in luck because the moment he stepped into the room, he could hear Alan's congested snores from the small living room. Kicking off his shoes, he padded his way to the bedroom, stopping by the bathroom to clean his teeth and piss before flopping down on the nearest bed and passing out, fully clothed.

Stiles woke in the late afternoon, glaring at the wall clock they kept in the kitchen like it personally offended him. His head was pounding and it was like a test from the Gods for him to even down a glass of water before plopping onto the couch. He had about 4 hours before he would have to spruce himself up to wait outside of another club. _Orion_ tonight; he hadn't been there in a few months. The guards outside _Red Line_ were starting to recognize his face, and that was never safe. His stomach growled, but he pushed the hunger to the side. He was running low on cash, and he wasn't starving yet. Food could wait. Rent was more important.

Hours later found Stiles outside of the club, tight black under armor hugging his chest, tight jeans hanging low on his hips. He grit his teeth through the cold. It was necessary to show the goods, and he couldn't do that bundled up. There were only a few patrons going in and out, but that's what he gets for choosing the unfrequented clubs. Finally, he locked eyes with a skeezy looking man. _Probably around 45, pretending he's 25 for the night. Easy $50,_ he thought to himself before smiling shyly at the man, biting down on his lip and raising an eyebrow.

_Do you have the money?_ his features spoke as his eyes grew critical as they looked the man up and down. He was earned a toothy smile and a pat to the man's pocket, the line of his wallet noticeable through the cheap slacks he wore. He followed the man to the motel in silence, walking through the neighborhood that always gave Stiles an uneasy chill. Though, to be fair, there was nothing that could be hiding in these alleys that were more terrifying than the things you could find in your backyard in Beacon Hills. But still, Stiles didn't want to be murdered, be it by a werewolf or a crazed mugger, thanks.

The man paid for the room as Stiles waited outside, running a hand through his hair and frowning at the length. It was almost as long as Scott's used to get in high school. Once they got their room, the man shed his jacket as Stiles sat himself down on the edge of the bed. He watched as the man took a baggy out of his pocket, dipping what looked like a miniature measuring spoon into the white powder before holding it up to a nostril and sniffing it in. He held the bag out to Stiles.

“Take your hit.” Stiles shook his head.

“No thanks, I'm clean. Let's just move onto the bed,” he urged, curling his fingers into the guy's belt loops and tugging. His hands were slapped away.

“Look, kid. I wasn't asking. I was telling you. Take your fuckin' hit.” There was something in the man's eyes that scared Stiles, and he wanted to protest again before a hand came down and slapped him across the face. The pain flared into his cheek as the man shouted.

“Take it!” he screamed, and Stiles panicked, inching forward and sniffing the powder up.

The man pulled his arm back before connecting another punch to Stiles' cheek, using the flat backs of his fingers rather than his knuckles. The man obviously didn't know how to throw a proper punch, but he made up for it by putting his weight into it. It came right across his cheekbone and Stiles' head flung to the side, his vision going askew for a second, blacking him out before coming back into focus. His sight blurred on the edges, but Stiles had other things to worry about.

“Again! Other nostril,” the man ordered, and Stiles obeyed. Though Stiles was sure he could hold his own in a fight, he had the feeling this man wouldn't be afraid to kill him if it came down to it.

“Now now, that wasn't so hard was it?” the man smirked before pulling off Stiles' shirt along with his own and nudged him toward the bed. Stiles wasn't paying attention though, he was too focused on what was currently moving through his body.

It was a small mercy that his nose didn't burn like the thought it might.

He heard that normally coke didn't make you feel like anything the first time. That really, it just made you chatty, but that was already how Stiles was. But he was still scared. After a few minutes, as the man was jacking Stiles off, he could feel his heart beat quickening. It wasn't the tell-tale signs of an orgasm though. It was something more erratic, the way his thoughts were buzzing around in his brain twice as fast as usual. He felt sick. He couldn't focus. His cock was flaccid, and the man let out a frustrated groan. All he knew was his words bubbling out of his lips as he rambled on about everything and nothing, his mouth moving faster over the words than even he was comfortable with.

“Kid, relax!” the man had to shout over Stiles' words, and when that wouldn't work, he threw his hand over Stiles' mouth to cut off the chatter. Stiles could feel a panic attack rising, and the man was cutting off his air. He wasn't getting enough air through his nose and the edges of his vision began to blur again. The man tore his hand away but Stiles' breaths were still coming up short. He felt another slap to his face, but all that did was make him gasp.

“Stop it! You fuckin' freak, cut it out!” the man roared as he shook Stiles by the shoulders, and Stiles could feel himself start to cry. He wasn't getting enough air in, and his sobs made his chest flare in pain.

“This isn't worth the money,” the man said, tossing Stiles' clothing at him and pushing him out the door. The cold air hit him like a freight train. Distantly, he knew that he was naked, but it was all he could do to lean against the wall and breathe again. The too cold air filled his lungs slowly, but after an agonizing 5 minutes, he could finally catch more than 2 seconds of breath, his head spinning as he gathered his surroundings.

His toes started to numb. He looked down at them and noticed his clothing pooled by his feet. There wasn't time to be embarrassed by his nudity as the spasm of shivers hit his body at full force. With shaking fingers, he pulled on his briefs first before tugging on his pants. He cursed at how tight they were, feeling like they were cutting off his circulation. They were like another skin, providing no protection from the cold.

Rolling the under armor back on, he clutched at himself, body folding in half in an effort to keep in his body heat. He cursed at himself for forgoing a jacket. He stumbled his way out of the parking lot and made it about half the block before giving up. His head hurt and the tears were pricking at his eyes.

_A first hit isn't supposed to feel this way,_ he thought to himself as he sat down on the sidewalk, unable to keep walking. He laid himself down on the concrete that must have been doubling as ice the way it chilled him. He was tempted to stand back up, and use his emergency money to get himself a room, but his body wouldn't respond. He took it as a small grace that the concrete pulled the sting away from his cheek. Which, now that he thought about it, hurt like a bitch, thank you very much.

His fingertips met the dirt on the sidewalk, and he drew lazy patterns. He hummed quietly to himself, a nonsensical rhythm, as he lulled himself to sleep. It had been a long time since Stiles considered himself a religious man, sometime after his mother's death he lost his faith. But as he laid there, he couldn't help but pray that he wake up in the morning.

*

There weren't any flights until 10AM to Chicago. Meaning by the 2 o'clock mark, Derek had nearly 13 hours to realize just how many people lived in the city. That wasn't about to deter him, but it would take him longer than he was comfortable with. He stepped off the plane with nothing but his rucksack and the clothing on his back. There wasn't a point in packing anything other than the essentials. He wasn't planning on this taking longer than a few days, tops. But the trouble was that he didn't even know where to start. Danny tracked the number Stiles called from, a payphone at the edge of some park, but what good was that going to do? Still, it was something, so Derek hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address.

Once there, he could smell traces of Stiles, but there was also the lingering scent of grime and public use all around the booth, causing Derek's nose to twitch. Knowing no one was around, he allowed his Beta form to come through, his senses heightening with the change. _North. Turn left. Forward STOP! Turn back. Turn left again. Forward._ He ended up in front of a run-down apartment complex, complete with a gate that was barely keeping itself from falling off the hinges, let alone actually keeping unwanted guests out. He walked into building and climbed the steps up to where Stiles' scent was strongest, mixed with the overwhelming scent of marijuana. He pounded on the door. A man with a buzz cut and a shirt that hung off his body like it was two sizes too big opened the door.

“What up, man?” he asked.

“I'm looking for Stiles,” Derek replied, already able to tell that he wasn't there.

“And who are you?” the guy asked, suddenly looking bigger than he was as he crossed his arms in a protective stance.

“I'm his boyfr- I'm his friend. From home.”

“Huh. Stiles doesn't talk about any friends from home. Name's Marcus. And look, you just missed him. Left about an hour ago,” he replied, sticking his hand out for Derek to shake.

_I know_ , Derek thought as he stared down Marcus until he let his hand drop back to his side. “Do you know where he went?”

“Probably went to go scouting.”

“What the hell is 'scouting'?” Derek asked.

“You know, scouting? Tricking? Curb serving? Scoping out for potential customers,” Marcus said in a tone that hinted he thought Derek was joking.

“Customers for what?” Derek snapped.

“You...don't know?” When Derek continued to stare, Marcus put his hands up in defense. “Look, I don't wanna go spreading Stiles' secrets around. If he hasn't told you, he probably doesn't want you to know.”

“Where. Is. He?” Derek was growing impatient. Marcus gave him the name of some night club not too far from the apartment, and Derek left without another word.

By the time Derek got to the club, it was already 9 o'clock. There was no sign of Stiles anywhere, but he could tell that he _had_ been there, maybe only an hour before. Derek chased after the scent that mingled with another more musky scent. He stopped at a motel room and banged on the door before bursting in.

In hindsight, he should have waited for the door to open itself, because he was now scarred with the sight of a disgusting old man, cracked out and jacking himself off on the motel's bed. The man had fat tears running down his face and was sobbing loudly before noticing the intrusion. He screamed, but Derek just slammed the door behind him on the way out, intent on blocking that image out of his mind immediately.

He went back to his Beta form, desperate. He caught the scent the second he transformed, and this time it was fresh. Derek ran over to the side of a nearby building where a sleeping form was curled in on itself, shivering from the cold. Derek pulled off his jacket and wrapped Stiles' body with it, hugging him close. Stiles' didn't wake, but his heartbeat was steady, and that was enough for Derek to haul him up and carry him to the nearest hotel. Well, not nearest. The nicest. Stiles deserved it.

After 30 minutes of holding Stiles close to his chest as he walked, they finally made it to the hotel room. Color was slowly rising back to Stiles' cheeks as his body regained it's normal temperature. Derek dug through his bag, finding his old pair of sweats and pulled Stiles' jeans off to replace it with those. Derek shucked his own jeans off then tucked them both under the covers. Stiles' body shivered as Derek's body heat came into contact with it, and Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles' chest.

In the morning they would talk. Derek would get his answers. But for now, he let Stiles sleep, drifting away himself with the knowledge that the boy was safe in Derek's arms.

*

_It's too cold outside_  
 _For angels to fly_  
 _An angel will die_  
 _Covered in white_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: The A Team
> 
> A/N: if you've never seen the music video for this song, you should check it out. It's what gave me my inspiration for the fic :)


	6. Chapter 6

_And your heart's against my chest,_   
_your lips pressed to my neck_   
_I'm falling for your eyes,_   
_but they don't know me yet_

*

Stiles will never forget the moment he fell in love with Derek.

It was during his Junior year of high school, classes had let out for the day and he was headed home. There was a pack meeting that night. Nothing overtly dangerous, just going over the week's training routine and follow up plans to stop the Alphas from tearing up their town. Stiles wouldn't call it a normal evening, but it was just another night for him. His favorite part about meetings, though, was that Derek allowed himself to free up the afternoon with the knowledge that he would see the pack in a few hours time. No need to check in with them.

Stiles went up to his bedroom to find Derek already there, lounging like the bed was his own, Stiles' laptop on the bed as he scrolled through the notes Stiles had made last night on the different plants Doc Deaton had introduced him to. Stiles chuckled lowly to himself before tossing his backpack by his desk.

He opted to wear basketball shorts, rather than the jeans he'd been in all day, and undressed in the middle of the room. Though he would never admit it, he wiggled his hips a little as he bent over to pull the jeans off, smirking when he looked over his shoulder and saw the way Derek's eyes darted from his ass to the computer screen.

“Good thing I wrote all that down before the holidays. It would be just my luck to hang mistletoe up in hopes of a kiss to find you and the puppies clutching at your throats as they swelled up,” Stiles commented as he crawled onto the bed to lay next to Derek. The computer was shut and placed to the floor as Derek shook his head.

“None of us would get close enough to it for that to happen,” Derek insisted.

“Sure sure, you say that now, but just you wait. I'll bet a month's allowance that Scott tries to be cute with Allison until the blisters cover his hands from the plant,” Stiles replied, earning a soft laugh from Derek.

Stiles shuffled his body closer to Derek's, sighing in content when Derek brought his hand up to stroke over Stiles' forearm, soothing while also making the goosebumps rise on his skin. He nuzzled into Derek's chest, pressing soft kisses over the t-shirt covering it.

“Scott's an idiot. Don't group him with the rest of the pack,” Derek commented.

“Hey, I'm his pack. Therefore, that's insulting.” Derek's hand stilled, and Stiles nudged at it in an attempt to get it to move again, but when it didn't, he looked up to see Derek's eyes flashing red.

“Woah, what happened?” Stiles asked, draping his arm onto Derek's chest to rest his chin upon.

“You aren't his pack. Not anymore. You're mine.”

“Yeah, duh,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “We're one big wolfy family. Kinda like the Brady Bunch. Your misfits and mine getting smushed together into one surprisingly functional pack.” When Derek's eyes changed back to their normal hazel color, Stiles let himself drape across Derek's body until they were touching chest to toe.

“Don't worry, big guy. You're my Alpha. No need to wolf out at me.”

“I wouldn't wolf out. Not at you. That would be counterproductive,” was all Derek said as he let his eyes shut, bringing his arms up to wrap around Stiles' waist.

“Huh?” Stiles was confused. He'd been wolfed out at plenty of times in the past.

“You're my anchor. Wolfing out wouldn't make sense.” It was good that Derek had his eyes closed, because the smile that spread over Stiles' face would have blinded him. Derek must have felt his heart beat pick up because he cracked one eye open just in time for Stiles to crash their lips together, tongue begging for entrance that Derek quickly allowed. Their tongues fought for dominance for a while before Stiles relented and let Derek take the lead. If they were late to their own pack meeting, well, who was going to call them out on it?

*

Stiles felt the bed shift and a hand trace the outline of his spine. Scouts weren't usually this touchy, but as long as he got paid, they could do whatever the hell they wanted. He pushed his face deeper into the pillow, reveling in the fact that the sheets at least smelled clean. The hand at his back was gentle in a way that felt familiar. The morning after was always the worst. Sometimes, he would let himself imagine he was still at home, laying in Derek's bed after staying the night while his dad worked the late shift.

Lips pressed to his shoulder in a tender kiss, and okay, no. That was a little too intimate for Stiles. It looked like he would have to steer whoever it was back onto the path of awkward eye-contact and maybe a nod goodbye. Sometimes the guys would lean in for a goodbye kiss, but Stiles would duck his head and leave. He didn't kiss anyone on the lips. Not ever.

He rose his head from the pillow and was met with a piercing gaze he'd only seen for the past year in his dreams. His lips parted in shock, and the memories of the day before came rushing back to him. Calling Derek. Going to fuck a guy who hit him and nearly made him hyperventilate to death. The coldness of the concrete as he held himself in fetal position until finally falling asleep.

“Der?” Stiles' voice was scratchy from lack of use.

“How are you feeling?” Derek questioned, hand still rubbing down Stiles' back, causing him to arch up into the touch. This was Derek. _His_ Derek. Really here, laying in bed with him, looking at him with a mix of concern and awe, like he was a glass figurine.

“Need water,” he whispered in reply. Derek nodded and lifted himself off the bed, Stiles already missing his touch. He grabbed a water from the mini fridge, twisting off the cap before handing it over to Stiles who was using the time to sit himself up. He took a long gulp of it, finishing half the bottle before coming up for air. He wiped his hand over his mouth before handing the bottle back to Derek who set it on the bedside table. Derek crawled back onto the bed, sitting with his legs crossed, knees pressed up against Stiles' left thigh. Stiles belatedly noticed that he was no longer in the jeans he was in the night before, but in soft gray sweatpants that had been stretched and worn from constant use.

A comfortable silence filled the room as Stiles pulled at the fabric of the comforter rested on the lower half of his body. He could feel Derek's eyes watching the movement of his hands before settling on Stiles' face. Minutes passed by before he heard a sigh.

Derek spoke up, “So, are you going to tell me what's been going on with you for the past year?”

“What's there to tell?” he asked, knowing that he was just buying his time. Derek wasn't having any of it, though.

“How about why I found you passed out on the ground wearing next to nothing in the freezing cold? Or the fact that your cheek has a bruise on it? Or maybe the fact that you haven't spoke to any of us in almost a year! Abandoning your dad, Scott, _me_ , to smoke pot and live in an apartment that smells of hundreds of different men!” Derek was close to yelling now, but his eyes didn't flash. He was completely in control, which made it worse. Because this wasn't the wolf's anger. This was all Derek.

He squeezed his lips together and shut his eyes. _Alright, time to fess up._

“For my second semester at UMICH, I, uh, ended the year with a B in one of my classes. So, naturally, I lost my scholarship.” Stiles' voice was low, and he was thankful that Derek was a werewolf. He didn't need to speak up. “Dad had just gotten a heart attack. We didn't have money. So I thought that maybe if I saved enough by myself, I could show my dad that I could be responsible and get myself back on the track to school. It really did start out that way. But the longer it got, the harder it was to believe I could go back.”

“So what were you doing for money? You weren't working at Sears because you'd never set foot in the one in Ann Arbor in your life.”

“I, uh...I was sort of...” Stiles trailed off. When Derek was silent, staring at him in a way that made him squirm, he knew he couldn't put it off any longer.

“I kinda...let people pay me to have sex with them?” he stated it as a question. He jumped when Derek pushed himself off the bed and turned his back to him, facing the window.

“It never meant anything, though! And I was always safe. Until yesterday, nothing's ever gone wrong!” Derek was absolutely still, his back still turned, so Stiles continued, “I honestly just needed the money.” More silence. “Jesus, would you look at me! Please, Der.”

“Don't fucking 'Der' me, Stiles,” he said, whipping around and pointing an accusatory finger. “You couldn't have thought of _any_ other way to make money than becoming a fucking prostitute? What the hell have you been thinking! Do you know how many diseases you could have caught? How one wrong guy could have killed you and not looked back? Why would you do that to yourself!”

Derek began to pace. “Why didn't you tell me you needed the money? I'm fucking rolling in it! You know I would have payed your way through school if you just asked instead of doing this to yourself. God dammit, Stiles!”

“Well I'm sorry that I didn't think it would be appropriate to beg you for money when you _fucking broke up with me!_ You didn't want me! What the fuck was I supposed to say? 'Oh, Derek, I know you dumped my sorry ass, but do you think I could borrow a couple thousand bucks to put myself through community college?' No way in hell!” Stiles' face grew red as he shouted, but he wasn't going to let that stop him from crowding into Derek's space and jabbing his finger at his chest. Derek grabbed at his wrist, tight enough to stop him, but not enough for it to hurt.

“You thought I didn't want you?” he growled, crowding himself right back into Stiles' space until their faces were only inches apart.

“I'm pretty sure that's what breaking up means, yeah.”

“Jesus, Stiles.” Derek's eyes widened. “It's like you don't even remember what happened.”

*

He watched as Stiles packed the last of his socks into his duffel bag which was fit to burst if even one more pair was tried to be stuffed in. Stiles was rambling about how he talked to his roommate on Facebook once he found out his name. The guy was going to be joining a fraternity, which meant Stiles might actually get invited to parties. Engineering majors landed on either side of the coin when it came to cool-factor, and Stiles would be damned if he let himself fall on the wrong side. He could feel the excitement Stiles was feeling, and it damn near broke his heart that he was about to let Stiles down.

He'd been thinking about it ever since Stiles got his letter of acceptance back in March. Stiles would be going to college. He'd be making new friends. And maybe he'd have a crush on guy. Derek fought with the thought. He knew Stiles would never cheat, but who was he to tie Stiles down to someone 2000 miles away that he could only see on major holidays? That wasn't fair to him. So he had to let him go.

“Stiles. I need to talk to you.”

“What's up? Oh, and can you hand me that spare computer charger?” Stiles asked, pointing and making grabby hands toward the object like a child.

“It won't fit in your bag.”

“Ah, you underestimate the Stilinski Magic Touch. I'm a pro at this.” Somehow, he managed to squeeze the charger into the outside pocket and zip it shut. He smirked up at Derek, and Derek felt his heart constrict at the look.

“Stiles,” he repeated.

“Yeah, Der?” His eyes were even more beautiful in the low light of the bedroom.

“When you go off to college, I think it'll be better if you're free from anything or any _one_ holding you back in Beacon Hills.”

“Like what?” Stiles' heart beat was steadily rising, and Derek had to take the plunge. He walked up to Stiles and pressed a kiss to his forehead. _Now or never._

“Like me,” he whispered, tilting his head down to rest his own forehead against Stiles' before backing up.

“Are we breaking up?” Derek could hear Stiles' heartbeat pounding in his ears, and it was literally by sheer will that Derek didn't run back up to Stiles and cup his face in his palm rather than say what he was about to.

“Yes.” Derek felt sick. He looked out the window, because he knew that Stiles' eyes would break any resolve he had set before. He listened as Stiles' breaths tried to even out.

“Yeah, okay.” Derek wanted to die. It shouldn't have been that easy. They should have fought for one another. Derek should have told him he didn't mean it. That he loved Stiles more than anything. Instead, he made Stiles promise to call, then turned on his heels and walked out the door. He made it down the stairs just as the Sheriff was making his way up.

“Leaving so soon?” John asked, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

“Take care of him. Make sure he remembers to call home.” John looked confused, and he was about to voice his thoughts when Derek turned and slammed the front door behind him. He could hear Stiles' heart beat going crazy as he cried in his room.

Derek had never hated himself more. But this was for the best. This is what Stiles needed, and that was all that mattered.

*

Stiles sat back down on the edge of the bed, eyes wide after hearing Derek's side of the story.

“You bastard,” he whispered. “How could you do that to me? I thought you didn't love me!” Stiles grew angry and stood quickly, beating his fists into Derek's chest as the tears started to gather in his eyes. “Why would you do that to me!”

“I thought I was doing it _for_ you! Stiles, I never stopped loving you, not for one second in the past 3 years,” Derek took Stiles face into his hands, rubbing his thumb along his cheek to catch at the tears that started to fall. His face was more sallow than before, cheek bones a sharper edge than he remembers, but Stiles was still beautiful. He would always be beautiful.

“Then why would you leave me?” Stiles sobbed, any thoughts of dignity thrown out the window.

“I thought you deserved more than me. But you know what?” Derek took Stiles' hands in his own and gave him what was the best smile he could muster. “I was fucking wrong. Because you and I, we deserve each other. I'm fucked up and so are you, and that's pretty damn near perfection,” Derek said before Stiles pulled him into a fierce kiss, more teeth than could be considered pleasurable, but it was everything they both needed.

Derek picked Stiles up so that Stiles could wrap his legs around Derek's waist, sitting down on the bed with Stiles sat in his lap. Their tongues danced in their mouths as they remembered each other. The feel of their skin pressed together. The way Stiles dragged his blunt nails over Derek's scalp while Derek ran his hands up under Stiles' shirt.

“I love you, Derek,” Stiles said between kisses, “Don't you ever leave me again.”

“I won't. I love you. God, Stiles, I love you.”

The taste of salt passed over their lips as Stiles' tears made their way down his face, and Derek just smiled against his mouth as the feeling of _home_ enveloped them. They were both still furious with each other, but that didn't matter now. Derek was holding him like he never wanted to let go, like he was just happy that Stiles was _alive._ That was enough for now.

*

_I was made to keep your body warm_   
_But I'm cold as the wind blows_   
_so hold me in your arms_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Kiss Me


	7. Chapter 7

_You give me life_  
 _Like lots of oxygen_  
 _You treat me like_  
 _I was in love again_

*

Nails dragged across the wide expanse of skin, running over shoulder blades and down to the small of his back. Tan blended with creamy white as their skin pressed together, sweat beading around their foreheads and breaths coming out hot against their necks. Fingers curling together on the pillow above their heads while the other hands explored. A thigh gripped and draped over the others waist as the friction between them grew. A kiss sucked onto his collarbone before being soothed away by the tongue that dragged it's way up his throat, mouths finally falling back together.

“Did those other men ever touch you like this?” A soft bite connected with Stiles' jaw. “Did they make you unravel with just a kiss?” Derek panted against Stiles' ear as he drew back.

“Only - _ahh_ \- only ever kissed you,” Stiles replied, breath heavy as a moan escaped his lips, his waist bucking up to grind his cock against Derek's.

Derek growled and ground down harder, and Stiles could do nothing but hold on for the ride, gripping tightly at the hand held in his own while the other hand was bunched up in the sheets. The orgasm built until he couldn't withhold it anymore, body arching up one last time as he came with a shout, Derek following quickly behind, his body shaking as he pressed his face into Stiles' neck. They lay there for a moment, catching their breaths, Derek's weight pressing Stiles down into the mattress. With a halfhearted wipe with a discarded shirt over their stomachs, Derek rolled over to his side, their hands still clasped as they stared up at the ceiling. They let the silence comfort them.

There would be more later. Maybe Derek would hoist Stiles up and fuck him against the wall. Or maybe Stiles would climb onto Derek's lap and ride him slowly, savoring the closeness. But it wouldn't happen here. Not in the room of a hotel that Stiles didn't even know the name of where dozens of other guests roamed the halls. It didn't bother Stiles so much, but Derek could hear the conversations on the other sides of the walls, and hearing a family of four talk about their upcoming trip to the museum just wasn't right.

Stiles pushed himself up from the bed, stark naked, and made his way over to his jeans. He pulled out his cigarettes and stuck on in his mouth as he dug around for a lighter. Finding one, he pulled on the sweats that had been tossed onto the lounge chair and tugged them on before propping open the window. He lit the end and took a deep drag, tapping the ashes before looking back to Derek.

“The scouting and the pot will stop, but Rome wasn't built in a day,” he said with a smirk before bringing the cigarette back up to his mouth. He held in the smoke for a few seconds before puffing out, attempting to make O-rings as he did. The air from the window blew the smoke away quick, and Stiles pouted. He saw the way Derek's nose was twitching at the smell, but was otherwise thankful that Derek wasn't going to push.

“So, what now?” he asked, watching as the paper slowly burned down to the filter.

“How much money do you have?” Derek pulled the covers over his body and practically snuggled himself in, one hand behind his head to prop himself up.

“A little over $700.”

“Well, I'll buy us plane tickets back to California, you'll give your share of the rent for the month to your roommates, and then we'll get out of Illinois. There are too many people here, the smells and sounds are fucking with me.”

Stiles hummed under his breath and nodded before looking back out the window. It'll all seemed too simple. He'd been running for months and now he was just expected to hop back onto a plane and leave like nothing happened? Sure, he was pretty over Chicago, but he wasn't sure he wanted to go home yet. Beacon Hills didn't even _feel_ like home anymore, really. Scott was probably pissed off at him. His dad would probably never look at him the same. He had the feeling that more than a few members of the pack were glad to be rid of him. Stiles startled as arms wrapped around his waist and a kiss was pressed to the back of his neck.

“You're tense.” Derek nuzzled at his skin, stubble bristling against him.

Stiles took one last drag before putting out the cigarette, tossing it out the window. He turned and wrapped his arms around Derek's waist, head against his shoulder. “I'm scared.”

Fingers scratched at his scalp and lips pressed to his temple. “You don't have to be. When Scott isn't talking about Allison, he's talking about you and how much he misses you. Isaac and Lydia looked like they were about ready to hire a Private Investigator to find you. And your dad...he needs you Stiles. We all need you, but I think he wants you home most of all.”

Stiles gulped as he felt his eyes water. The tears wouldn't fall, but they threatened to.

He sniffed and stared out the window at the city that he had slowly become accustomed to. He closed his eyes and tried to think of any reason to stay, but nothing came to mind. He knew that there was only one place he really belonged. “Okay. I'm coming home.”

*

Turned out the only flight they could get on short notice wasn't until Tuesday evening, so they had three days before they could leave the city.

They stopped by Stiles' apartment first to gather up the little amount of things he had. He kept his stuff in a storage locker back in Michigan, where he paid for a year's worth of storage. No point in lugging around what he didn't need. He handed the money over to Marcus, who shrugged.

“Good luck, man. Take care of yourself.” He hugged Stiles quickly, then shook Derek's hand, telling him to look after Stiles and then he left the apartment, already late for work.

Alan hadn't taken it as well.

“You can't just _leave_ Stiles! What do we do next month to pay the rent? Who am I going to talk to late at night and watch movies with and go to when the going gets tough?” he whined.

“Dude, we've never done any of that. We don't even have a T.V. You're just mad that you're going to have to cut down on the pot.”

“I need it, Stiles! If I don't smoke, then I might actually get a job. I'm not ready for that kind of pressure!”

“Alan, you are 25 years old. You've got to start sometime,” Stiles insisted, backing his way slowly toward the door. Derek opened it and let himself out.

“No, wait! Please! I'll let you have the bed! Your boyfriend can move in, too! I'll share my pot! I'll buy you cigarettes for the month! Please don't go.”

Stiles shook his head and pat at his shoulder. “Sorry, buddy. You're on your own.” With that, the pair left, ignoring the calls of distress shouted after them. They made it out to the street, and Stiles reveled in the way that Derek easily slipped his hand into his own as they walked. He'd been with more men than he could even count, but he had never gotten to just stroll through a park or visit a shop with one of them, hands swinging between them as their steps kept tempo.

The more he thought about it, the more that he felt like it was _too_ easy. He could feel the anticipation of waiting for the other shoe to drop eat away at his mind.

“Come on, if I'm leaving this place for good, I want to at least show you around the places that made it worthwhile,” Stiles said, tugging at his boyfriend's hand with a smile.

Derek called them a taxi because where Stiles wanted to go would involve hours of walking, and while they had time, they didn't have _that_ much time. They stopped at the Adler Planetarium first because it was his favorite. There were always a bunch of kids around with parents that would scoff at him and lead their children away, but that didn't matter. He loved the exhibits, and talked a mile a minute about each one. Derek just smiled fondly and listened, because, even though he didn't really understand the fascination, it was making Stiles happy, so he wasn't going to knock it.

Over the days, they had visited just about every museum and art exhibit they could find. Stiles liked the art because it made him feel small. When Derek questioned why that was a good thing, Stiles only smiled and said that, “Any art that can make you feel something, anything, even if it's bad, is worth liking.”

On the final morning in Chicago, they decided to lay in bed at the hotel – which Stiles finally found out was a Hyatt – and just talked to one another. Stiles asked questions about the pack. Were they getting along with each other? How was Scott coping with the newly formed integration of packs? Was Isaac eating properly and getting to work on time? Derek's answers were short and stunted, yes, fine, yes, but Stiles let them slide. He would be finding out for himself in just a few days from now.

_A few days._ The thought still sat heavily in the pit of Stiles' stomach, making it turn with nerves and the distinct fear of the unknown, but he shook away the feeling when Derek began to ask his own questions.

“What happened, that night? The one where I found you...” he let the question hang as he pulled Stiles closer to him, rubbing his nose against Stiles' throat as he spoke.

“Err, I don't really remember much of it. I met the guy at the club and he didn't look any grosser than the other guys I've been with, so I went with him without even thinking about it. We got there and he made me take a couple hits of coke...and then he, uh....he punched me. And then when I started hyperventilating, he, uh, started hitting me again. The rest is a little blurry but the next thing I knew I was pulling on my clothing then passed out on the side of the street.”

Derek was holding onto him almost too tightly, rubbing his face against Stiles' skin. _Scent marking._ Derek would always do it after Stiles came home from school or lacrosse, and sometimes after he spent too long with Scott. Stiles smiled and pressed a kiss to Derek's head, nuzzling his own face into his hair.

“But then my big strong boyfriend saved me and, well, you know the rest.”

“I can't believe a guy who cried as he jerked himself off could have the gall to hit you. He's lucky I found you because I would have gone back in there and ripped his damn throat out for letting you leave in your state.”

“Wait...he cried as he wanked himself? Ugh, what a tool.”

“So that was the worst of it?” Derek spoke with his mouth close to Stiles' ear, catching his attention and making him shiver.

“Yeah. I mean, I've had some pretty bad experiences, but that was definitely the worst.”

“What else has happened?”

Stiles thought then laughed sharply at the memory, causing Derek to pull back and look at him incredulously. “What?”

“Nah, I was just remembering this one time. Man it was really fucked at the time, but I guess it's pretty funny now. But, in this business, you find a lot of sexually curious men. Ones that are totally straight, except when they're fucking you into the box spring.” Stiles laughed and Derek frowned.

“That's not funny,” he growled, and Stiles pulled him back down to lay on his chest.

“Shh, I'm telling a story. Anyway, so there was one guy that was apparently trying to get both kicks in on the same night. He told me to meet him at 10, and when I got there, I knocked on the door to be greeted by a... _charming_ woman who was most definitely in it for the same reason I was. I get into the damn room and the man is laying there, blissful as fuck, and beckoning me to the bed. I sit down on it and it was soaked. The woman must have squirted or something and the guy didn't even have the decency to put a towel down, even though he knew I'd be coming in!”

Derek shook, and Stiles peeked down to see the corners of his mouth twitching before he cracked and burst out laughing. It was contagious, and soon they were both laughing. Not necessarily because it was that funny, but because they just couldn't stop.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” Derek said once he regained control. “Really, it's not funny,” he said, wiping away at the tears that gathered at his eyes from the laughter.

“Dude, it really wasn't! I was squicked from sex for like a week!”

Derek laughed again and this time Stiles just bat him on the arm, pouting.

“Only a week?” he giggled. _Giggled!_ Well if that wasn't the most endearing thing he'd ever seen. Stiles couldn't help but press a hard kiss to Derek's cheek as they calmed themselves down.

“Well, it knocked me down a week's pay, so it was serious business. There are many reasons God made me gay, and that's one of them.”

Derek cleared his throat, his unease apparent as he changed the subject. “Speaking of money, what exactly were you planning on doing with what you saved up?”

“I was trying to save it for school. I was gonna try to save up at least $2000 so I could go to Community College. Put 20 bucks away each week and everything...”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles. “You _do_ know that that would have only got you through about one semester, right?”

“Yeah, I realized that about a month after I got to Chicago. About the same time I realized being an Engineering major probably wasn't for me.”

“Shut up. You're smart enough for it.”

“Nah, but thanks for the vote of confidence. I'm thinkin' about being a medicinal researcher instead. Eventually.”

Derek hmm'd in agreement, tracing patterns into Stiles' skin as Stiles pet a hand through his hair. They were quiet for a long time. Hours passed and they almost had to check out and head to the airport. But neither wanted to leave the comfort of the bed.

“Did you ever think about dating anyone while you were still in school?” Derek asks, breaking the silence.

“Nope. Never.” Derek accepts that answer and they're quiet again, Stiles rubbing his fingertips up and down Derek's side as Derek listened to his heart beat. “What about you?” Stiles whispered.

Derek rolled his eyes. “You're it for me, Stiles.”

*

The flight from Chicago to Phoenix passed by quickly as they both slept, Derek pressed against the window and Stiles slouched in on himself in the middle seat. He sat next to an elderly woman who not-so-subtlety shifted away from them when Derek took Stiles' hand in his own. Stiles smirked but decided not to give the woman a heart attack by kissing him, so they fell asleep. Now they were in Phoenix for their 40 minute layover and he needed a smoke. He knew he'd have to quit soon, so he let himself enjoy the last few he'd ever have.

He went to the designated smoker's area that Derek was avoiding like it was personally offending him. He watched as taxi cabs pulled up on the side of the airport to pick up passengers and he sighed. The money he had sat heavily in his wallet, making him hyper-aware of how far he could get with the money he had. How easy it would be to run again. There wouldn't have to be a fight against Derek because this time he'd ask him to go along.

Letting out a puff of smoke, he tried to clear the thoughts from his mind. There was the pack, still. Derek, as much as he loved Stiles, would never leave them. Even if it meant hogtying Stiles to the top of a cab and driving back to California. But he could still dream. He closed his eyes and thought of not only running away, but going all out. Leaving the U.S. for the thrills of another country. Maybe some place like Italy or France. Where he could learn an entire new language. Be a part of an entire new culture.

His cigarette burned away and he stomped the nub out with his boot and, for a second, he stepped toward the passenger pick-up. For a second, he almost leaves again. But then he thought of Derek. How he must be waiting with their overpriced take-away food in uncomfortable seats, waiting for Stiles to return. So with one last look, he made his way back to his gate.

When Stiles was within sight, he saw how Derek's shoulders were still stiff as he shifted in his seat. No doubt they were both thinking the same thing. Stiles accepted the burger from him and nudged at Derek's shoulder, smiling.

“Don't worry. You've got me for the long haul.”

“Good. So I don't have to worry that I'm finally going to have you home to find you giving the UPS guy a blow job for free shipping?” Derek bit out. Stiles jaw dropped, burger forgotten as he stared at the side of Derek's face. His eyes were wide and he was sure he could burn a hole straight through Derek's cheek with his stare.

“Excuse me?” Stiles finally said, the disbelief lacing his words.

“Never mind. Forget it.”

_Whoomp, there it is. The other shoe._

“Is that the kind of person you think I am now?”

“Stiles, I said forget it.” Derek clenched his jaw, refusing to let himself get angry.

“No! You started this, so I'm not forgetting shit. So, what? You think I'm two-bit hooker? Hey! Everybody! Alert the presses, Stiles Stilinski will do anything for a dollar! Old man Wagner is rich, why don't I let him watch me masturbate so that he'll buy me a soda? Or maybe I'll ask Mrs. Charleston to lend me a couple bucks so I can go to a movie if I let her watch us have sex? Always known she was into it. Or maybe-”

“Stiles!”

People were staring. Derek was out of his seat, crouching on his knees in front of him as his chest heaved. Derek's eyes were wide and panicked, and he looked devastated. But it was Stiles that was accused of being a favor whore. Derek had no right to look like Stiles just punched him in the face. He would _not_ cry. Not in the middle of an airport.

_Now boarding Flight 657 to Oakland, California at Gate 8C. Now boarding Flight 657 at Gate 8C._

“I'm sorry...I'm so sorry,” Derek whispered, the ache to touch Stiles apparent in the way he shifted his body closer, hovering without actually making contact. Stiles rested his elbows on his lap and dropped his face into his hands.

“I'm not some whore.” The words were muffled, but he knew Derek could hear.

“No. Stiles, I know that, I didn't mean-” Stiles split his fingers so that his eyes could be seen and shook his head.

“No, you don't know it. If you knew it, you wouldn't have said anything. Der, I was desperate. I had nothing going for me and I needed the money to eat. I didn't do it to make my life _easier_ in any way. I did it to survive. So don't talk down to me. Don't you dare.”

Derek hung his head and Stiles could hear him breathe deeply through his nose. “Look. What I said was out of line, but you have to understand something. I didn't know where you were for a long time. For most of it, I had nightmares that you were dead and none of us would have known. Then I find you and find out that you were getting paid for sex? Do you know how fucked that is? Not that you did it, because as much as I don't understand it, I get that some part of you thought it was the right thing to do. But I thought you were _dead_ , Stiles. I thought there had to be _something_. Something so terrible that you couldn't come to me.

“I'm scared to death of you. I always have been, but especially now. You're stubborn and can't be tamed for anything. If you wanted to run away again, you could. And that breaks my heart because I would never stop looking for you. For two years we built this trust and suddenly it was broken. I let you think you couldn't come to me and that's my fault.”

“I-” Stiles started, but Derek just brought his hand to his thigh to hush him.

“It's not the same. As much as I want to, and as much as I think you want to, also, we don't trust each other anymore. I'm scared you're going to run and you're scared that I'll never forgive you. But we need to get passed this. Because if we don't, then it'll be like you never left Chicago.”

“I want to.” Stiles choked the words out as he leaned into Derek's body. People were mulling passed them on their way to the lines to check in their plane tickets to board the plane, but it was like there was no one else but Derek. “I want us to be okay again.”

“No more keeping the truth from each other, then. Because it fucked us up once, it will do it again.”

“Okay...okay.” Derek leaned forward and kissed Stiles tentatively on the lips before standing up, picking up their bags. Stiles looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Smiling, Derek took Stiles' hand and pulled him up. They still had a plane to catch.

Once they were seated, this time trapping a gruff looking man at the window seat as Derek took the middle, Derek took hold of Stiles' hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

“If you did go, back there when you went outside...where would it have been?” Derek meant to sound curious, but instead he just sounded tired.

“Milan. Or maybe Venice,” Stiles admitted.

“Okay.” And that was it. They didn't talk about what Stiles would have done there, what Derek would have done to find him, what everyone back home would have thought. They just held onto each other, knowing that he didn't go. He didn't leave everything behind again.

*

_And I hold you tight_  
 _Tight enough to know_  
 _That you are mine_  
 _I'd never let you go_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Let It Out


	8. Chapter 8

_And it's so hard to say it_  
 _but I've been here before_  
 _Now I'll surrender up my heart_  
 _And swap it for yours_

*

“What do you mean you called my dad?” Stiles blanched.

“Stiles. How did you think we would be getting back to Beacon Hills from the airport?”

“I don't know! Maybe you'd get Jackson to pick us up or something! I can't believe you called my dad. He's going to kill me in the middle of an airport with hundreds of witnesses!”

“Stop being ridiculous. He'd at least wait until we got to the car.”

Stiles blinked. “Oh, the man's got jokes! Look everybody! I'm about to die a bloody death and Derek is making jokes!”

“You're drawing attention to yourself. You'll be fine. He misses you, Stiles.”

They had just touched down and were waiting for the aisle to clear up so they could get their bags from the overhead compartment. Well, Derek was waiting to get the bags. Stiles was trying not to have a panic attack as he exited the plane. For a moment, he could feel the cool air hit his face before he kept walking down the hall to the gate, Derek stalking behind him. He grabbed his bag and latched himself to Derek's side, going through his trusted breathing routine as they walked to where dozens of other families were reuniting and gathering their bags from the carousel.

He bit at his nails, a habit he hadn't given in to since middle school, tugging on the dead skin where the nail ended with his teeth. He slowed his pace as his eyes shifted around the huge room. The noises of the happy people shouting around him gave him a headache. His eyes darted around but didn't take in a single familiar face as he shuffled aimlessly around after Derek. He was feeling claustrophobic. The nerves were starting to eat their way through his stomach, and he was shaking with the urge to just _do something_.

He felt Derek's hand rub down his bicep before pointing across the way to where John Stilinski was waiting awkwardly, hands stuffed into his pockets. For a moment, he froze before Stiles forgot everything, his legs pulling him toward the man until he was running. The Sheriff had all of two seconds to react before Stiles collided with him, wrapping his arms around his dad and squeezing. They were both crying, John silently shaking with his sobs while Stiles did his best not to let out loud gasps as the tears rolled down his cheeks.

“'m so sorry. Dad,” Stiles cried, and John shook his head.

“You're here," he whispered, running his hand over the back of Stiles' head, "Everything is okay. You're here now.” His dad backed up and took Stiles' face in his hands, looking him over. He frowned at what he found, and Stiles couldn't even imagine what he was feeling. He looked his dad over, as well, noticing the deeper lines in his face, the way the bags beneath his eyes told stories of sleepless nights. _Man, I really messed him up,_ he thought to himself as John let go of his face to shake Derek's hand.

They stood, awkwardly looking at one another before John clapped his hands together and led them to the car. Derek held his hand as they walked, Stiles unsure of who he was trying to comfort more, before he let Stiles sit passenger. He slid into the cruiser, laughing quietly to himself that Derek was stuck behind the steel mesh cage, forced to sit on the smooth vinyl that was the backseat. He was grateful that his dad didn't lock the doors; Stiles didn't want Derek to feel like the one who was being kept prisoner. The ride back was silent, awkward, none of them wanting to get into a huge discussion in the car. He was tempted to fiddle with the police-radio, but thought better of it.

He looked out the window at the long highway, counting the surprisingly high number of wild horses they passed on the way back into town. He furrowed his brow as they rode in, confused by how everything looked exactly the same. Everything in Stiles' life was so _different_ , surely the world must have been changing with him. But no, as they passed the familiar "Now Entering the Town of Beacon Hills" sign, he realized that it was only him. Sure, his dad looked more tired, but everything else seemed like it was frozen. Derek, the line of buildings and shops, the neighborhoods, the school. Nothing changed. It didn't feel right. His whole world flipped upside down, it wasn't fair that the world didn't flip with him.

*

Derek sat and watched from the backseat at the way the Sheriff's eyes would occasionally dart over to his son to make sure he hadn't somehow vanished from thin air. He understood the feeling. Every chance he got, he wanted to touch, to hold, to make sure that he was there. That he hadn't run again. It wasn't very fair to Stiles, but an insecurity doesn't fade over night. He failed both Stilinski men once, he wouldn't do it again.

Driving back into Beacon Hills, he could feel the way the rest of the pack knew he was there. It was the same way he would know if one of them left their territory. It was instinctual and an ever present hum in the back of his mind that he hadn't felt in the passed few days. For a moment everything felt right again. He was back with his pack, Stiles was home, and nothing was immediately trying to kill any of them. He counted it as a victory.

They rolled up to the Stilinski's house, Derek climbing out of the backseat quickly to open Stiles' door. The younger man gave him an eye roll, but stepped out of the car regardless. Derek had missed out on a year's worth of being Stiles' boyfriend, and he was going to damn well make sure he made up for the lost time. He pressed a kiss to Stiles' mouth.

“I'm going to go. Let you have time with your father. Call me tonight?”

“What? No!” Derek raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “Dude, you can't leave! I'm not facing the interrogation alone. Please, Der, come inside with us.”

“You should, Derek. I'm orderin' pizza. At least stay for dinner,” the Sheriff insisted, and Derek couldn't say no. He may have been the Alpha, but anything either Stilinski said felt like law to him. Grabbing his bag out of the trunk, along with Stiles', much to the other man's protest, Derek head inside after John. Stiles trailed behind them, letting himself look at the house he had lived in for 18 years. He felt disconnected from it, Derek could tell by the look in his eyes as he entered the foyer, kicking off his shoes by the couch.

Derek set the bags down on the sofa and came up behind Stiles, wrapping his arms around his waist and nosed at his neck. Stiles squirmed and laughed, batting his face away from the ticklish spot. Derek smiled and nosed back at it, holding Stiles in place as he tried to run away.

“Derek! Stop, it tickles!” he laughed, trying to squish Derek's face between his neck and shoulder. Derek pressed a quick kiss to the spot, then another to his temple, then relented. He backed away just in time for John to announce that the pizza had been ordered and would be there soon.

“Guys, can you come into the dining room? I think we should talk,” John called. “You too, Derek,” he added before Derek could excuse himself. The two looked to one another before Stiles shrugged, letting out a sigh like the weight of the world was on his shoulders, then trudged to the kitchen. Derek couldn't help but follow.

John tossed Derek a beer and Stiles a bottle of water before sitting down at the table himself. He opened up his own beer and took a long sip before throwing his arm out in a _go ahead_ gesture. “Alright. Talk.”

Stiles started his story, putting in more details about school and his loss of scholarship than he did with Derek, but he figured it was a stalling mechanism. He went on to explain his thought process of sleeping outside during the summers rather than getting a motel for himself, because he obviously hadn't been living with any friend like he had told his dad. When he finally began explaining, in much less detail, his way of making money, the color drained from the Sheriff's face.

“Wait. You sold yourself for _sex_?”

“Uh, yes?”

Silence. The quiet before the storm. Then everything exploded.

“What in God's name were you thinkin' kid? You could have gotten yourself killed! Or diseased!” The man went on and on about the different ways Stiles could have gotten hurt. Drug abuse, STD warnings, previous murder victims who were making their livings the same way as him in Beacon Hills.

“And you were in Chicago! That's one of the most populated cities in America. Who _knows_ what kind of person you could have been going home with. Never mind the fact that no one would have known who the hell you were if you _did_ get hurt and taken to a hospital!” Stiles was just letting him talk - rant - his head hung low as the tears gathered in his eyes. Derek wanted so badly to comfort him, but now wasn't the time. He needed to hear this. He didn't need to be coddled.

The Sheriff rubbed his hand across his face. He looked weary and Derek could sense the way the man was feeling like he let his own son down. He breathed deeply three times before letting out the air quickly through his nose in a halfhearted laugh.

“I'm glad you're home kid. But don't get me wrong, you're not leaving this house for anything unless either me or Derek is with you. Understand? I'm not losing you again.” Stiles nodded his head, but Derek could hear his heartbeat steadying. “You will be home before 10 o'clock, absolutely no exceptions. And we're getting you a phone. You will answer every single call from me. Alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

There was a knock at the door and the three men startled. John pushed himself out of his seat to answer it, and Stiles let out a huge breath.

“Geez. That was not as bad as I thought it would be,” Stiles said, using his sleeve to rid the tears from his eyes and let himself smile.

“I don't think any of us have the energy to be mad anymore. Well, at least not right now.”

“Wow. You should just quit your job as scary Alpha leader and just comfort people for a living,” Stiles huffed with an eye roll, standing to muss Derek's hair before helping his dad with the pizza. Once they started eating, Derek noticed that Stiles' appetite wasn't what it used to be. His stomach must have shrunk from the time not eating because he only got through a slice and a half before setting it down, claiming he was full.

His fingers tapped at the table and his leg began to jiggle.

“Another thing,” John began out of nowhere, “You are going to quit smoking. I'm not living with an ash tray.” Stiles' eyes widened, but he didn't protest. Derek was glad because, while he didn't want to be the one to tell Stiles what to do, he had absolutely no qualms about his father being the one to do it.

*

Derek left around 11PM. He wanted to stay, but they both knew that Stiles was practically asleep on his feet and would barely make it up to his room before passing out. It was the best night for Derek to let the pack know about Stiles' return without either one missing the other too much. He loved sleeping next to Derek – and “sleeping” with Derek – but they could hold off for one night.

Stiles draped the blanket over his father's sleeping form on the couch before climbing up the mountain that normal people would call stairs. He flicked the light on in his room which was colder than the rest of the house from lack of use. Looking around, he suddenly was snapped back to the realization of how old he really was. Everything in his room was only used just the year before, but it all made him feel so _young_. The snowboarder on the wall, the stickers stuck on different parts of his furniture from when he was 11 and thought it would be a good idea, and the picture of him and Scott, age 14, on their first day of high school. It all felt very juvenile, and he couldn't help feeling like his time away aged him 10 years.

His sheets were on the bed, the comforter turned down and pillow propped up. He could tell the bed had been freshly made, probably by his dad when he found out about their arrival back home. He crawled into it after shucking his jeans and sweater off, immediately knocking out from how comfortable his foam mattress was. It's a miracle how well you can sleep when you felt like you haven't in months.

*

The house rumbled as the door slammed, and Stiles groaned as feet pounded their way up the stairs and down the hall towards his room. He had all of 3 seconds before his door burst open and Scott pounced onto him. Scott latched to his body like a baby koala, hugging him tightly.

“You're here! Derek said you were but you really are!” Scott exclaimed, and Stiles heard a small laugh from his doorway where Allison, in all her beauty, stood watching her boyfriend cling to another man without a second thought.

“Can't...breathe,” Stiles choked out and Scott pulled back, looking sheepish as he rolled over onto his side, laying down beside Stiles on the bed. He beamed before shock hit his face, eyes widening as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles slapped his hand to his cheek, hiding the healing but still there bruise on his face, already starting to make excuses for it before Scott spoke.

“Dude. Your hair,” he said slowly as if processing it as he continued to stare.

“What about it?” he said, running his fingers through it before understanding. The last time Scott had seen him, he was sporting maybe only two inches of hair. Now, he was easily giving season one Sam Winchester a run for his money. He completely forgot about the length, everything in the passed week making him feel like he was the old Stiles again.

“Come on. Let's go get it cut before Scott pops a blood vessel from his staring,” Allison suggested, grabbing for both of their hands to pull them out of the bed. Stiles dressed quickly while the couple caught him up on what they had been doing for the passed 9 months, involving rekindling their love and their plans to move in with one another in the summer. Stiles smiled and listened, happy to be hearing someone else tell their story. The happiness was short lived, though, once they got to the barber's and Scott asked about his time in Chicago.

Stiles explained it all, sparing the last night when Derek found him, giving them foggy details about him sleeping outside when Derek got there. The barber cutting his hair was doing his best to tune them out, for which Stiles was grateful. He didn't need a complete stranger telling him what he was doing wrong with his life as well. Once the cut was done, Allison clapped her hands and assured him that he looked handsome with his new crop cut.

Honestly, he felt like he looked more like Scott's twin than anything.

*

Telling Erica, Boyd, and Jackson had been easy. He got to tell the grittier stories without fear of them telling him how “dangerous” it was. They laughed along with him at the stories he told and no one looked disappointed.

Isaac and Lydia, on the other hand, made him feel like he was walking on egg shells. He tailored everything he said to make it sound like everything was under control. He wasn't homeless, he simply didn't have somewhere permanent to live. He didn't sleep in the cold gutters, he more or less camped out. Lydia didn't buy a second of it, smacking him on the back of his head without another word.

Isaac nuzzled himself quickly against Stiles as they hugged, but stepped back just as soon as he did. They might have been pack, but they were also still fresh from being teenagers, and that was more than a little awkward for either of them.

He wanted a cigarette so bad. But every time he reached for his box, he realized that they weren't there. Derek and his father had gone and thrown his two cartons out, and now everyone watched him like a hawk so that he couldn't get his hands on another. He knew it was ultimately for the best, but his restlessness was making even him annoyed, so Derek suggested they run.

“You're joking, right?”

“No. You need to get back in shape.”

“...are you calling me fat? Because if you haven't noticed, I'm skin and bones, dude.”

“You also couldn't walk down to the corner store without wheezing. Come on.”

So it became routine that after training with the pack, Stiles and Derek would take a run. He loved the air there. It was so clean compared to that of the big city. They kept up a steady pace, but Stiles knew that what he felt was miles of heavy running was probably no more than half a mile of light jogging. At one point on the first run, Derek was practically walking next to him as Stiles tried to keep his body moving. Yup, definitely out of shape.

Tonight, Isaac joined them, deciding that it was the best time to ask him questions as he was panting for breath. “So, why did you choose prosti- I mean, why did you choose to 'scout' or whatever? Why not become a computer hacker, or an escort, or like, anything else?”

“Be-cause,” Stiles panted, stopping abruptly to catch his breath to speak. If they wanted answers, Stiles wasn't multitasking. “I don't know the first thing about hacking. That's Danny all the way. And I'm not pretty enough to be an escort. I know that, other people know that, so I didn't even try. And I don't know, I was making money really fast with scouting. Didn't see the point in leaving it for $9.50 an hour at some coffee shop.”

“You're plenty pretty enough to be an escort, Stiles,” Isaac said, smiling. Stiles laughed and shook his head, starting back on his run.

“He's right, you know,” Derek said from behind them.

“Oh, so you would have preferred for someone to pretend to love me and kiss me and be my boyfriend rather than just giving me an anonymous hand job?” Derek huffed and nudged at him, causing Stiles to almost lose his balance as he continued to run.

“Plus, it's not like I didn't think about it. I would've only had to do it once or twice, but it didn't feel right. The thought of someone looking at me the way you look at me, even if it was fake. No way.” Stiles could feel himself start to lose breath again and figured it was time to stop talking and focus on the burn of running.

“I still think you're an idiot for not coming home,” Isaac muttered after a while and Stiles shoulder-checked him with a laugh, running faster as Isaac chased after him.

*

_I'm out of touch, I'm out of love_

_I'll pick you up when you're getting down_

_And out of all these things I've done I think I love you better now_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Lego House


	9. Epilogue

_And you made me scream_  
 _But then I made you cry_  
 _When I left that little bird_  
 _With its broken leg to die_

*

It didn't come as much of a surprise to Stiles that the list of pros and cons related to coming back to the pack was about equal. Sure, being in Beacon Hills meant that he was surrounded by family and friends, always had 3 meals a day, and never had to want for anything, but things had also gotten...weird. He felt like he was being smothered, even when there was seemingly no one around. “Seemingly” being the key word. He knew that no matter where he was, someone was keeping an eye on him.

Whenever he would go to visit the pack at Derek's loft, he noticed that no one would ever let him sit on the recliner closest to the door. He'd always get stuck on the farthest couch, pressed up against the arm of the chair that touched the wall while someone sat next to him, trapping him. That someone usually turned out not to be Derek, but more often than not, Isaac.

He would make sure Stiles was comfortable on the couch before basically spinning around three times and laying down like a damn puppy. His favorite was to lay his head down on Stiles' lap, allowing for premium fingers-through-hair petting, while still being able to watch the room and what was going on. The first couple times, it was more than awkward. Isaac looked like he was trying to rip off a band-aid but was too scared of the pain that would follow while he hovered around Stiles.

“Dude, what do keep breathing over my shoulder for?” Stiles asked, incredulously.

“I'm not 'breathing over your shoulder',” Isaac countered, complete with finger air-quotes. “I'm just, watching over you. That's all.”

“Because _that's_ not any less creepy. Would you just sit down, or at least stop pacing? You're giving me the heebies.”

“Could I just-” Isaac began, but shook his head quickly.

“What?”

“No, never mind.”

“No, what?” Stiles tugged on Isaac's wrist, knowing fully well that if Isaac didn't want to stop pacing, he wouldn't be halted by Stiles' grasp, but he allowed himself to come to a stop.

Worrying his bottom lip, he hung his head and quickly got the words out. “Do you think... Icouldcuddlewithyou?” He rose his head, bright blue eyes looking nervous.

“Sure.”

“Because it'd be totally innocent, and it'd only have to be the one time!”

“Isaac.”

“And it's not like I'm going to hurt you, or anything. We're friends! Friends do that sort of thing! Well, not usually guys, but I mean, you're with my Alpha! And I'm only mildly bi-curious. It'd be totally fine-”

“Isaac!” He cut off abruptly, eyes wide as Stiles smiled up at him. “Get over here before you give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Wait, really? It's not going to be weird for you?”

“Oh, it'll be totally weird. But, that's our lives. You wanting some Stiles cuddle action is the least of any of our concerns.”

And just like that, it was like Stiles opened the gates and unleashed a tidal wave of affection. But it wasn't limited to Isaac; both Erica and Boyd managed to find a way to make their presence known around Stiles. Boyd's claps to the back would linger for just a second longer than should be considered comfortable, and if they were anyone else, there would definitely be mixed signals being sent out. But, as such, they were pack.

Boyd's choice of affection was easily the least concerning, especially when put up against Erica's need for Stiles to be there whenever she would take a mid-afternoon nap. Erica would drape the left side of her body over Stiles' right, her head sharing the same pillow as his. In every instance between each pack member, there was one constant. There would be a moment when the werewolf would nuzzle or flat out rub their face against Stiles' body. The desire for him to constantly smell like pack being a reminder of how much his absence had affected them.

He never went anywhere without his father or Derek, the two men made sure of it. He thought that after the first month, they'd become more lenient, but if anything, they became stricter as time went by. It was as if each day was another one closer to the time when Stiles would finally crack, sneaking out in the dead of night to hop onto the cheapest flight he could get.

While he knew he deserved it, that didn't make it feel any less intense. It also made him feel like shit. The way Scott would look at him whenever the need for a cigarette clawed at Stiles' mind, making him fidget and stare longingly at the High School kids who would sneak a smoke behind the nearest 7-11. Scott would notice and look at Stiles like he didn't even know him anymore. The look was fleeting, but it was there. The way Stiles was conveniently not invited to Danny's Club-and-Pub Crawl on his 21st birthday. Instead he was left to watch NCIS re-runs with his father.

Honestly, what did they think he was going to do? Run off with the richest looking guy there, even when Derek would be standing no more than two feet away from him. Give him a break! Regardless, his life in Beacon Hills was starting to suffocate him. He needed to do _something_. Anything to just be his own person again.

*

“I'm ready to go back to college.”

Derek froze with his spoon hovering by his mouth. Stiles had been at Derek's loft this morning after spending the night. He was walking around in a pair of boxers and a loose fitting white T-shirt, his hair pushed up to the side from sleep. There were an almost infinite number of times Derek thought Stiles was hot, but this look was especially alluring. His voice was still scratchy and he had an aura of softness about him. He shook himself from his daze.

“Good. You can sign up for classes with Jackson to finish up your gen-ed,” he agreed.

“What! No, that's totally not the point!”

Derek sighed, dropping his spoon into his now forgotten cereal, before looking back up to Stiles, confusion apparent on his face. “What do you mean 'the point?' You need to finish up those classes.”

“I know that, but nowhere does it say I have to take them with Jackson. Look, I like the guy... most of the time, at least. But I want to be able to go to school... _by myself_. Meaning no dad, no you, no pack. Just me, myself, and I. Well, along with 100 other nameless people, but I digress.”

“No.”

“Please! Derek, you can trust me. I can be alone now without fear of hoppin' and skippin' right out of California. It'll only be for two or three hours a day!”

Derek groaned, picking up his bowl and dumping the leftover milk into the sink. “You can get pretty far in two or three hours,” he muttered before turning back around to head back into the bedroom. He heard Stiles' quick scuffle following him down the hall. Derek opened up his wardrobe and shrugged himself into his shirt before turning to see Stiles' awaiting eyes.

“Are you ever going to trust me? Because _I_ thought that we were in this for the long haul. But we might as well break-up all over again if you can't trust me to go to my lessons without jumping my professor for an A.”

Derek groaned again, this time flopping down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “That isn't it. You don't understand, because you aren't a werewolf,” he sighed. “I have this all-encompassing need to know where you are at all times. With the rest of the pack, I can feel them. They are blood and I know where they are no matter what. With Allison and Lydia, sure I care if they're safe, but it's not the same. You're you, Stiles. When I'm not around you, it's like part of my senses are being blocked out. Like my skin is too tight and the only way I can feel right is if you're there.

“I thought I would be okay when you went off to Michigan. I thought that, even though I was letting you go, that I wouldn't have to worry. You would be safe. But then you weren't. And while the rational part of my brain knows that I'm not being fair to you, the rest of me needs this assurance. I need to _know_ that you're okay. That you aren't being hurt or doing the hurting. And the only way to know is to be there.”

“Der, look at me.” Stiles slotted himself between Derek's knees that were still on the edge of the bed, waiting for him to make eye-contact. “This is scary for you, I understand that. I messed up and put us both in a bad place. But you realize that there will come a time when I can't always be around. Eventually, I want to work. I'll want to be able to spend time by myself so that neither of us will want to strangle each other from constant closeness. The rest of our lives is a long ass time for you to never let me be alone again.

“I'm just asking for three hours, four days a week. I'll take them in the middle of the day when things are the busiest so you won't even miss me,” Stiles smiled.

“I'll still miss you,” Derek whispered, smiling himself when Stiles pecked him on the lips.

“Good. That's good for us. Time to miss each other. Please, let me do this.”

“Why are you even asking permission? If you really wanted to, how would I stop you?” Derek said, resigning himself.

“I want to know that if I do this, I won't be coming home to an angry Alpha every day. That you'll support me when I start needing to take five or six hours a day when classes get harder. Or when I'll need to spend all night at the library with group mates. That you'll trust me to come home to you.”

Derek looked at Stiles. Really looked, staring into his almost golden brown eyes that were staring back at him with such earnest love and asking. There really wasn't any other answer.

“Okay. You can take classes by yourself. I trust you.” _I would give you the world if you asked for it. My heart, my soul, my trust. It's yours._

Stiles beamed, fist pumping quickly before sliding his arms around Derek's neck, peppering his face with kisses and thank yous.

*

Classes sucked, but what did he expect from general education? Part of him wished that he did take a class or two with Jackson, just to give him someone to talk to.

But he was glad, he needed this. Stiles Stilinski was slowly but surely becoming his own person again. While his wanderlust was still in full force, his dreams of someday leaving Beacon Hills now involved the pack. Vacations rather than running away.

Though he knew he would probably never regret his year of freedom, he was glad to know that he'd never lost the one place where he could always come back. _It wasn't a homeless life for me. It was just that I was home less than I had liked to be._

*

_I’m covered by nature_  
 _And I’m safe now_  
 _Underneath this oak tree_  
 _With you beside me_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song used in this chapter: Little Bird
> 
> Also, title and last line taken from the song Homeless
> 
> A/N: Thank you all so much for the positive feedback! Drop by my tumblr ( **merstiel** ) and say hello ^-^


End file.
